I’ll come straight to the point; I have been through the unimaginable nightmare of spending twenty three hours in a motorway service station, in France!
I was moving country, from Barcelona to London by road. I had contracted a 19 cubic meter van and driver. We had loaded all my household and stock the previous day in Barcelona, which had taken over 6 hours.
As we crossed the windy Pyrenees borders between Spain and France, I looked forward to going to cooler climate of France. We were half way through France when we had decided to stop off at service station La Fayette Loranges, 40km from Clemont.
After the usual visits to the loo and coffees, Richard, the driver pumped up the wheels of the van with air. We drove onto a quieter spot, where Richard said that he wasn’t happy about the wheel. It was leaking air. We had to change tire.
Richard pulled out a jack with maximum capacity 1.8 tonnes. Our van and its contents totalled over 3 tonnes.
After exhaustive attempt to jack the van, Richard failed. I subsequently went to a nearby parked caravan and asked for a jack. A German gent in his mid 50s came out with his jack and offered help.
Whilst waiting for the men to sort out the heavy stuff, I spread out on the grass with my pet cats, Sam & Tinky. Sam had no interest in the world outside his cat carrier. Nothing could bulge him. Tinky was more curious, and I had to put her on a leash. I attempted go walkabout with Tinky with pathetic result. These cats had lived all their lives in a flat in urban Barcelona. The balcony is the nearest thing they got to the great out doors. Tinky perplexed her body into a crouching position and attempted to walk along the grassy patch. Walking on grass was completely alien to her as she uncomfortably crawled across .
Thanks all round and the German family went on their way with their caravan.
Richard and I did a test run around the service station complex. According to Richard the revolving wheel made a noise that he wasn’t happy about. The right back wheel looked more like a doughnut due to all the weight. We could not possibly continue as there would be high risk of the wheel exploding on the motorway.
After a while, Richard decided that the only action, though drastic, was necessary: he would have to distribute the weight of the contents of the van, so that the bulk weight lay between the front two wheels and back two.
It was going onto 9.30pm, so we moved to a long stay car park lower down amongst the articulated gigantic lorries.
Richard commenced to unload the boxes, one by one. Laying them on the tarmac car park. Every so often, Richard would inch the van forward, making space for more boxes from the van.
By the time we had emptied some 75% of the contents, when Richard spotted that Sam the cat was sitting by the van observing us.
“No worries” I said, he will be fine.
Just as I finished my sentence, an enormous lorry pulled by along us. Huffing and puffing tremendously loud noises that articulated lorries do. At this point, Sam was spotted diving under our van and disappeared.
My heart dropped! For one second, I feared Sam had ran under the huge wheels of the lorry. I ran across the newly parked lorry and began to look for Sam. I scouted under our van and all the neighbouring lorries. Each wheel was so enormous; I had to check frontal and back. Sam was could not be seen. The car park was divided into 3 sections on a slope. We were positioned on the lower car park, the most furthest from the service station and fuel station it self.
I roamed the three car parks and service station grounds, covering every inch, calling Sam’s name without avail. I even walked Tinky around the complex, in hope that she would lure Sam out from where-ever he was. I incestuously did this for 5 hours whilst Richard worked alone re-loading the van.
I thought of loosing Sam in a service station brought me to tears. I slouched on the grass exhausted. There was nothing more I could do to find Sam. I had to help Richard with the loading. However, I just wanted to check around our car park again. I walked again between the parked lorries calling Sam in a desperately low voice, when suddenly the bastard jumped from one of the wheels onto the tarmac. I could say that was one of the happiest moments of life!
So on with the re-loading. Richard hadn’t got very far as he had worked through the night in darkness. I suggested that we take a nap and await day break when the lighting is better. However, because Richard and I had survived the last 10 hours on coffee, it was difficult to get some shut eye.
We re-commenced around 4am and were making great progress. By the time the van was three quarters loaded I noticed that the right back wheel was again sinking. It wasn’t as bad as before, but we still had the rest of the van to load. We shifted the remaining heavy boxes onto the left hand side of the van.
By this time, more vehicles were coming to and from the service station. By 7am, the place was teeming with holiday makers, and other travellers. It was bizarre; it was as if the entire A75 traffic stopped at this service station. The good news was we were almost finished.
After closing the back door of the van, we immediately went to inspect the right back wheel. Jesus crist, it was exactly the same as before: a doughnut.
We had wasted 10 hours on physical and emotional pain.
We had to loose at least half a tonne of weight if we were to continue our journey. Richard being the contracted driver was not responsible for the contents and had no suggestion. It all laid on me to find a solution. I was pretty pissed off at this point as Richard had noticed the van was well over weight before we left Barcelona, in which case he should have said then. Now in the middle of no where and he expects me to off-load half a tonne! How the fuck did I place myself in this predicament? Still, it was a reality and I had to work with Richard to get us out.
I remembered two years ago, I was in a similar situation when my two workers and I drove from Barcelona to Paris for a trade fair at the end of January. We were caught in a snow storm near Limoge. The motorway A20 and main roads were cut off and traffic diverted to country roads where we got completely lost and were on the brink of truly being stuck in the snow. After driving 3 hours to nowhere, we risked running out of fuel and possibly freezing to death. Luckily we found the closed A20 again, which was conned off. I kicked the cones out of the way and we proceeded down the snowed covered A20 to Limoge at 10km/hour. The motorway was filled with abandoned cars, lorries. Some had even skidded into ditches. We had been very lucky. Only the French could have closed a major motorway, the A20 being a vital link from south to north. Instead of gritting the motorway with salt, they decided just to cut it off. The salt trucks were exiting Limoge when we were entering at 11pm. This is some 9 hours after the first snow fell.
I swear I’m jinxed in France.
Anyway, I put my thinking cap on and thought how we could resolve the half a tonne. First call was the many lorries parked. Surely one of them would have space for my boxes. I called upon every driver. I didn’t care where the boxes went, any European city would do. Many drivers where sympathetic as they had watched us all night un-loading, re-loading and looking for Sam. But for what ever reason they could not help us.
I rang Eva who works for Schenker, a logistical company in Paris. She advised that they had a sister company in outside Clemont, about 35km from the service station. Perfect! I selected 34 boxes which were least valuable, total weight over half a tonne. Richard was to drive to this company, unload the boxes onto the pallets and the logistical company would send them to UK. The only problem was that it was a Saturday, and the office would be closed. However, the security guard would let us in for sure.
Richard left for Clemont. I sat on a grassy area next to the car park watching all my personal belongings and boxes of stock. The sun was beating down, and all I had was a base ball cap to protect myself. Hours and hours went by. I watched the cars, caravans, trailers come and go. Most were holiday makers taking regular stops.
I timed that single male adults would stay on average 20-30 minutes at the service station. Whilst families with children took on average 40 - 90 minutes.
Most would arrive with exhaustive or pissed off faces. Only one car, with a couple had joyful faces. The others were so damn miserable. Most were going on holiday by the look of the contents of their car, trailer, roof boxes, bikes. Why do they choose to start a holiday with a stress filled journey by road? You can see that couples had already lost their patience and were getting on each other’s nerves. Mums stressed out with the young kids. Teenagers were so wishing they weren’t there. Dads either in rants with their partner, stormed off, fiddled with the vehicle or took dogs for walks.
A young couple parked their car by me and proceeded to lay a picnic on the grass. The boy took out a beach parasol, opened it and looked at the floor. Ah! No sand to plunge the parasol into. He stood there quite lost whilst his partner snapped at him to unleash the hinge in the middle of the pole so that the parsol could be placed at 45 degree angle on the grass. She was so pissed with his lack of simple intelligence. Road travel can certainly make or break a relationship. You can see that this relationship wasn’t going far.
Another two cars pulled up in front of me. Two families were travelling together. And from the look of the roof boxes, they were going on holiday. The men, in their over sized T-shirts, teenage children who couldn’t give a toss, and the wives hot and flustered. The men went off into the fields to piss. Nice! The women went to the grassy area to eat and drink, whilst the teenage girl laid herself down on a blanket to sunbathe. There was no nice exchange of words, just snatches as they got things out of the car.
Then snatches and sneers as they all got into their respective cars.
Inside the horrid service station, which served no hot food, only skimpy stale sandwiches and coin operated hot drinks machine, it was teeming. It was like a congregation of beach holiday makers and campers. Ladies toilet queue went beyond the entrance of the WC area. Children crying, moaning, teenagers browsing the chocolate and drink shelves. Everyone else, on a buying frenzy, as if this was the last chance they had to buy…ever! Why didn’t they travel by train, fly or stayed at home?
Sam and Tinky were out of their boxes, sitting by my feet in the shade. They hadn’t eaten or drank since we left Barcelona and that was about 30 hours ago. I was desperate to get them to at least drink. I tempted them with super lux canned food. Tinky licked the jelly and then drank some water. Sam refused. Perhaps the fright last night had been too much for him.
In the distance, I saw a black collier dog, unleashed and was wandering around. I placed the cats back into their boxes. The collier sniffed his way around the picnicking people and bins. He looked scruffy with his head down on the floor at all times, sniffing out food. As he neared us, I saw much sadness in his eyes. No life, no joy. Not like the other travelling dogs when they leap out of the cars.
As I watched the collier, I realised then that he had no owner, he was on his own. How did he end up here? Had a traveller forgotten him, lost him or abandoned him at this retched service station? Poor thing, he looked so miserable. I realised then, it could have been Sam. If this had happened in the UK, I surely would have taken him home with me. I placed the food that Tinky was eating out for him.
It was now 2pm, with the sun at its highest point. I was burning, and attempted to find some shade amongst the parked lorries.
The plan to offload the extra weight at the logistical company failed. I wish not to recall the event. Just like to say that I find the French obstinate and the most inflexible race I have ever come across. So Richard came back with the boxes.
On his way back to the service station he saw a hotel before turning into the service station. Suggested that I could ask them if it would be possible to leave 2 pallets with them for 2 days before the transport company can pick up. Great! I went to see the manager. After much begging, the manager agreed for me to leave only 1 pallet as the space was limiting. Not wonderful, but the best option I had at the moment.
On my way back to the car park, I saw a lorry marked Romania – Spain. I asked the driver where he was going; he spoke no English or Spanish, but pointed to another lorry nearby. I ran to the lorry shouted “hola, hola, hola”.
The Bulgarian driver spoke perfect Spanish and was on his way to Barcelona. Bingo! And between us we’d made a deal. It cost me a mere 100€ to have the 34 boxes taken to Barcelona.
As we loaded the 34 boxes onto the lorry and the rest of my things into the van the heavens opened. I didn’t care, the down pour was a welcomed relief from the blazing sun.
By 5.30pm on our second day, Richard and I were back on the road. Paris was signed posted 450km and we were happy.
It would take us another 21 hours to arrive to London. But that’s another story altogether.
